Five Things in Life
by Hogwarts Online II
Summary: There's five rules to follow, five moments to remember, five goals to achieve. What are your five?
1. By:Karin: Ravenclaw: Lily Potter II

**Title:**** Five Rules to the Life in the Potter Family**

**Character:** Lily Potter (II)

**House: **Ravenclaw

**Name:** Narcissa Weasly/Karin

**Five Rules to the Life in the Potter Family- by Lily Potter**

**Blame it on James-** There is no point trying to blame it on Albus. He is the worst liar the word has ever seen. Or he is the best, and he tricks us all. No, he just can't lie. The problem is if I say it was Albus that ate the cookies and mum ask Albus, he is _always _going to tell her the truth. She gives him a lighter punishment if he doesn't try to lie, but still! On the other hand, there is James. He is always up to some new joke. He can be a bossy big brother but there is no one better than him as a partner in crime. He can come up with the best, and most crazy ideas. He is okay at lying, but everyone knows it was him that ate the cookies; even if it was me that ate the cookies I just need to say that James ate them. Or even better, say that James said I could eat the cookies. Just be careful and don't forget number two on the list!

**If you want something, ask daddy-** Face it: Mum grew up with six older brothers, she is never going to fall for the puppy face. She knows all the tricks. Every time we visit Gran and Gramp or some of our uncles, I see it. She doesn't need to do a thing! Also, she grew up in a family with little money, so when you ask her for the newest toy she is just going to shake her head and start to talk about how lucky all kids are today. I get the feeling that she talks about more than toys. Dad doesn't have any siblings, and he didn't get so many presents when he was little. He loves us so much and if I ask for something it is likely I will get it. Maybe I play on others' weaknesses, but I want that new dress.

**Don't talk with strangers- **This is really classical. Everyone hears it sooner or later. In our family, there is something special. Every time we are in the Diagon Alley, loads of people come and want to speak with dad. Sometimes it is Neville or Aunt Fleur, but most times it is people that we don't know at all. They speak with Dad as if he was an old friend and then they comment on how much I have grown. That is usually a bit awkward. But then there is some that are scary they scream at us; yell horrible things, even if I don't hear so much of it, Mum or Dad Apparate us directly home when we meet someone like that. They still make me nervous, why are they so upset?

**Don't ask so much about the past- **Of course, it depends on what past you think of. If I ask about stories from when I was little, Gran will show me loads of pictures. If I ask Mum about how she had it when she was little, she will tell me some. But Dad never talks about the past. He gives me a said smile and says that this time is the best ever. Once he said that he lived with his cousin Duldu, or something like that. But I know, _I know, _there is so much more. Something big that they won't tell me. Not only something that have to do with my family, many other adults get that sad look now and then. It is something sad in some of Mum's childhood stories she talks about her brother Fred. I don't have any uncle Fred, so something must have happened. But everyone gets upset if you ask, so it is better not to think about it. I believe Dad when he says I live in the best time.

**Family is the best thing ever- **I have my brothers, Albus and James, my mum and dad, but my family is so much bigger than that. Teddy is a part of our family; he is like an extra big brother and he can change his hair color! I have my grandparents. I have my uncles, all five of them. I have my cousins, even if it is hard to count them, they are so many! Hugo is my cousin, but he is also my best friend. One thing I know for sure, something that never will change: My family will always be there for me! No matter what they will always love me and I will always love them.


	2. By:Dest: Gryffindor: Godric Gryffindor

**Title: **Anything For You

**Character: **Godric Gryffindor

**House: **Gryffindor

**Name:** Dest; CityGirl419

**A/N These are the five things Godric looked for in his house! They are bolded! (: Enjoy! Thanks to my beta, Heather! (: **

After the dreadful meeting with his three friends, Godric Gryffindor went back to his quiet room in the newly built castle. They had decided to create a school for magic a little less than a year ago. The castle was finally built, and they were now trying to figure out how to make the school run. All the little things that made a school great needed to be ironed out.

Throughout the meeting, one thing for sure had been decided: there would be four houses. All of them would be named after the four founders, of course, but that was it. Nothing more was done. They would be having yet another meeting tomorrow afternoon. One that would probably last all night, like this one had.

Even thought they didn't actually come up with anything but the fact they were going to have four houses, they had an assignment to come up with five traits they had themselves. Since the four friends were almost completely different, they would use their traits as guidelines to what house each student should be in.

It was hard coming up with your own personality. Breaking it down into five traits that would be used to pick students for generations to come is even harder. He had to pick wisely, and not the bad ones, of course, but the good. First, he would start with what his friends had told him. _**Bravery**__. _To him, that was his most prized trait; the fact that he would do anything that needed to be done. He would face a dragon if he needed to.

He felt that if he had brave people with brave people they could get alone quite well. Although, they may have a tendency to get in trouble since fear would be no problem for them. Godric thought that would be funny.

The next one that he knew would be a part of his list would be his _**Chivalry**_. He loved the fact that he was decent enough to be chivalrous, which was something he couldn't say for Salazar. Treating a woman with respect was very important to him. If you treat a girl like they want to be treated, the girl will more than likely stick around.

What else, though? What traits would Godric want the Gryffindor house to have? What traits did he even had? He searched his brain for things that his friends had once told him about his personality. Or maybe not his friends, but random people. Maybe even family.

Was daring, and bravery different? Could he use both as two different traits when they were in fact similar? Daring was boldness. While bravery was the readiness to face things. They were two traits, that just happen to be similar. He supposed it would work as two. So _**Daring**_, would be his third traits.

Godric sat there, with a quill and parchment with only three words written, attempting to think of only two more. This was where it got even harder. Trying to come up with the deep traits he had that he may not even have known about. His forehead crinkles in thought as he tried to come up with two more.

It was kind of sudden, the next trait that is. He didn't know why he didn't think of it before, as it kind of went hand in hand with his other traits. _**Courage. **_Again, it may be similar to the others but it was in fact different. Courage was about beating the inner fear. Overcoming your fear and facing it head on. Like someone afraid of heights going in an airplane, or even someone afraid of snakes touching one. His house will be the house of the warriors. Being able to fight for their one true love, just as he has throughout his entire life. Even if his love doesn't know that he loves her, or maybe even doesn't love hir back.

It was then that the last trait came to him. In the thought of his love, his one true love. The reason he existed. He would do anything to protect her. Even if that meant dying himself. So _**Self-Sacrifice, **_is the final trait.

Just as he had finished writing down the last trait a knock sounded at the door. Knowing there were only four people in the castle including Godric himself. He invited the person in. Already having a good idea as to who it was before they opened the door.

"My dear Godric, have you finished your list yet?" Helga asked him once she opened the door and saw him sitting on the loveseat next to the coach.

"I have just," he answered her, motioning for her to join me on the couch.

"Of course you have. So has Salazar, and even Rowena! I cannot think of any but one. Loyalty. You know how much I value my friends. You also know how hard it is for me to judge others. What if there is a child that does not fit any of our characteristics? What if someone is special? He or she could not be brave, like you. Nor cunning, like Salazar. Not even smart like Rowena? What then?" she finished ranting with a truly worried look on her face.

"Ah. That's my lovely Helga. It makes me go into my thought I had early, but never voiced. I was thinking, that what happens to after we pass. We cannot live forever! We need someone sufficient enough to sort students after. I was thinking of all of us putting our traits, and thoughts into an object that wouldn't wear. That would be able to last for century after century. Then, those thoughts would be transferred to the object and no student shall be left behind!" he told her with a huge grin on his face.

"Godric! That's brilliant! Oh thank you! Now I can stop worrying! We'll go over your idea tomorrow at the meeting!" She hugged him swiftly before exiting his quarters with a wonderful grin on his face.

"Anything for you, my love."


	3. By:Prissie: Ravenclaw: Cho Chang

**Title:** 5 Things to Keep in Mind when Charming a Ravenclaw  
**Character:** Cho Chang  
**House:** Ravenclaw  
**Name:** Principi Phantasia/Prissie

**1. First impressions _do_ matter.**

"I've never seen anything like Ashwinders!" Marietta's voice floated out her train compartment.

"I know right!" her friend, Cho Chang responded enthusiastically. "Fascinating," she sighed dreamily.

Just then, fifth year prefect Ronald Weasley walked by and was very much attracted to what he saw through the compartment window. So, being himself, he decided to chime in to their conversation.

"Ashwinders? Bloody hell! That's like the best show on the Mugglenet, don't you think?"

Cho turned to face him with a puzzled look on her face.

It was Marietta who spoke up, though. "What are you going on about? We were discussing about the amazing qualities of theAshwinder, a_ magical serpent_."

"Oh," Ron felt himself go red in the face.

Marietta shook her head in amusement and Cho stifled a giggle.

"I… have to finish my rounds…" he mumbled incoherently, quickly walking away.

But before he could go so far, Marietta called out to him, "You've got your badge upside down, by the way!"

That exclamation was followed by the sound of laughter from their compartment.

oOo

Ron bumped into her on his way to the carriages that would take them up to the school.

"Oh, hey," he smiled. "You might not remember me, but we met earlier on the train."

Cho looked up and smiled, "Of course I remember you! You're that guy who thought Ashwinders was a TV show, weren't you? I see you've got your badge set straight now," she pointed out with an amused look.

Once again Ron turned bright red, but decided to laugh it off – nervously, of course.

"I – I'm Ron," he stammered. "And you are?"

"She's Cho Chang, who doesn't know her?" a familiar drawl was heard, and both Ron and Cho turned to see none other than Draco Malfoy walking their way.

Cho blushed at his words.

"Draco Malfoy," he winked and extended his hand to her.

She took his hand and said shyly, "It's nice to meet you."

* * *

**2. Deliberated use of words.**

Fred and George were sitting by their youngest brother at lunch, and decided to tease him – as usual.

"Hey, Ron," Fred called. "Would you rather look like a human or a troll?" He nudged George and both of them snickered.

Ron looked perplexed for a moment before replying, "A human, of course!"

Fred and George guffawed with laughter. "If you _look like_ a human…" George started.

"It means you aren't one!" Fred finished. "Our brother is a troll!" That brought on another round of laughter from the both of them.

Ron merely pursed his lips, annoyed.

oOo

That afternoon, Ron purposefully strode into the library. Now that was an unusual sight. But alas, he wasn't there to study; he was there to look for a certain Ravenclaw.

"Hi Cho!" he greeted, approaching her table.

Cho looked up from the book she was reading and greeted him back, "Hi Ron."

"You know what? You look like a troll," he declared.

Cho looked mildly offended.

"'Cause you're human! If I said you looked human, you'd be a troll! Get it?" he forced out a laugh.

Cho just stared at him as if he'd lost it.

At that moment, a certain blonde boy strolled out casually from behind the shelves, holding an open book. He walked to her and snapped the book shut before leaning in and saying, "Well, Cho, _I'd_ say you look human," he smirked, "'cause in reality, you're an angel. And as good as you might be at deception, I can see right through it."

Cho blushed and let out a small giggle, "Draco…"

* * *

**3. Don't offend them in the slightest.** They might not explode, but they sure as hell won't be charmed.

"Wow, I can't believe it!" Ron exclaimed. "I got an O for my DADA OWL!" Ron was smiling so widely it looked like his cheeks might hurt. "I can't believe I even beat you, Cho! It's a miracle!"

Cho looked hurt at this.

"Well… it's not my best subject," she said quietly. "And I had a lot on my mind last year…"

Much to Ron's annoyance and dismay, Draco Malfoy always chose these moments of his failure to show up and play hero.

He put one hand soothingly behind Cho's back and said, "Hey… That's alright… What's past is past… How about I help you study for your upcoming NEWTs? I could use some studying myself…"

Cho's eyes lit up, "That would be great, Draco!"

"What did you get for your Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL, if you don't mind me asking?" she inquired.

"Oh, I got an O," Draco waved it off as if it didn't matter. "I guess I was just lucky," he smiled at her.

"Don't be so modest, Draco. We all know you're smart," Cho smiled back kindly.

"What? It's okay if _he_ gets an O and it's not if _I_ do?" Ron exclaimed indignantly.

That rewarded him a glare from Cho and a sneer from Draco.

"Well at least he wasn't all snobbish about it! And he's actually smart! I bet you cheated off of someone!"

Cho wasn't usually sharp-tongued; but you know what they say about quiet people, when they speak up, they make a point. And those points aren't guaranteed to not be hurtful. Ravenclaws _are_ blunt.

"The OWLs were cheat-proof!" Ron protested, incredulous. But no one was paying attention to him. Cho and Draco had walked away; Cho chatting animatedly about something – in her typical ladylike manner, of course – and Draco nodding and smiling at her words.

* * *

**4. Accept them just the way they are, quirkiness and all.**

Ron was walking down the hallway when he came across Cho, looking half flustered and half deep in concentration, fumbling with the pages of her journal.

"Cho?" he asked, curious and concerned.

"Oh, hi," she greeted him carelessly.

"Is something wrong?" he queried.

"Err… not really, no," she replied, still not looking at him.

"Then what's with the look on your face?" he prompted.

Cho sighed and finally looked up at him, "See, Ron, now you've made me lose count!"

"Lose count of what?" he shook his head.

"I was trying to get to the _exact middle_ of my journal," she explained.

"Whatever for?" he asked again, more confused than ever.

"I want to divide the book in two, one part for extra notes and the other for my personal agenda."

"Well you don't have to be so manic about it!" he exclaimed. "Just split it into two parts," he took the book from her and flipped it open around the middle. "There! Easy! Do you have obsessive compulsive disorder, or something?" he looked at her weirdly.

"No, I don't!" she said indignantly. "Well even if I do, it's just my way of doing things! Do you have problem with that?" she asked, annoyed.

"It's weird, you know," Ron stated.

"If you think so, then you don't have to watch me do it," she stated calmly.

"Oh, let the girl do things the way she wants to, Weasley," Malfoy drawled, tugging the book from his hands and returning it to Cho.

Ron, not wanting to pick a fight with the Slytherin in front of the Ravenclaw, merely narrowed his eyes and said, "Bugger off, Malfoy," before leaving himself.

Vaguely, he could hear Malfoy saying to Cho, "Here, I'll count for you."

* * *

**5. There are always exceptions.**

Ron spotted Cho Chang standing by Hogwarts' main gates – alone. He approached her and leaned casually against the railings.

"So… you going to Hogsmeade today?" he asked tentatively.

"Uh huh," she nodded.

"I like what you've done with your hair," he said, flicking a strand.

"Ron! Don't do that, it took me ages to get it done!" Cho complained.

"Alright, alright," he backed off, palms forward.

"Are you going alone?" he went back to questioning her.

"Actually…" she began.

"Cho! Sorry I kept you waiting. Are you ready to leave?" Draco mussed her hair.

'_Of course! Who else if not Draco Malfoy,_' Ron thought resentfully, glaring at him. '_Hah! Now Cho will give him a mouthful for messing her hair!_'

But Cho merely turned to him and pouted playfully, "Draco! It took me ages to get my hair done!"

Draco grinned at her and said, "No worries, you still look beautiful with messy hair."

Cho's expression turned into something like horror, "It's messy?"

"No… no… you look fine," Draco reassured. "Perfect, actually."

Cho calmed down and patted her hair, still pouting at him.

"Let's go, then. See you around, Ronald," she smiled at him briefly.

Ron gaped after them, hardly believing what just happened.

oOo

With Ravenclaws, there are always exceptions. It's part of their inconsistent nature. They usually provide an excuse for those, but just so you know, they're not always truly justified.

But then again, these are things to keep in mind when _charming_ a Ravenclaw, not things to keep in mind when they're _already charmed _by you. Once you've managed to charm them, you can get away with anything. Well,_almost_ anything.

It's complicated, dealing with these quirky beings called Ravenclaws.


	4. By: Jessi: Gryffindor: Hermione Granger

**Title: **The Five Mysteries of Hermione Granger  
**Character: **Hermione Granger  
**House: Gryffindor  
Name: Phoenixica24/Jessi**

The Five Mysteries of Hermione Granger:

Hermione Granger sat on her bed, staring at the last few pages of a diary she had started at age five. She had stopped just before she left for Hogwarts at the age of eleven and now, the summer before her third year, had gone back through her old things and found this.

After reading it, she realized something. _I've always been too intelligent, it's always separated me from everyone else. When everyone else starts dating, where will I be? Who will I be when they have families and children, and I have books? Is that what I want?_

She picked up a quill and dipped it in her inkwell, pausing just long enough to get her thoughts in some sensible order before writing.

_Most people would look at a bright, intelligent witch and say "She's smart, good for her." and leave it at that._

_But what lies behind the bookworm?_

Hermione set down her quill and stared blankly at the page. What did lie behind her studiousness? If she didn't know, who did?

Right then and there, she made her decision.

_I'm going to learn who I really am!_

"And I'll use this diary to record the whole journey!" she exclaimed out loud.

"What's that, dear?" her mother called.

"Nothing!" Hermione yelled back hurriedly.

"She's finally reached that age!" her father squealed excitedly. Hermione rolled her eyes. _Fathers never change._

For the first time, she considered a family of her own. Who would her children's father be? Who would she like him to be? This was something she hadn't considered before.

She sat back down with her quill and diary before pondering this question. She decided to just write whatever came to her mind instead of her usual note-taking ways. When she finished, she looked it back over and was surprised at what she saw. Maybe she did have a normal teenage girl hidden inside her somewhere.

_Things I would like my husband to be:_

_Intelligent._

_Studious._

_Handsome._

_Kind._

_Caring._

_Understanding._

_Loving._

_Mysterious._

_Strong._

_Have a sense of humor._

Well, so what if some were practically the same thing? It wasn't like anyone else would see her diary.

As she thought about the implications of this and the fact that her parents were going out of town for three days as of tomorrow morning; a sly smirk slowly lit up her face.

The next morning, as her parents left, her mother hugged her and whispered "Have fun" in her ear. Hermione waited until they were gone before wondering what her mother meant.

_Don't most parents say something like 'be good'? Am I such a good girl that they don't do that anymore? Have they ever done that? _This startled her_. _What had other girls her age been doing that she had missed out on?

She wandered around the house before going and turning on the TV. She flipped aimlessly through the commercials before snorting and turning it off. Who was she kidding, could she be a normal girl?

Hermione sighed heavily before an idea hit her. She went to where her mother kept all her school things from when she was young and attended muggle schools, and when to age ten. She looked up the number for one of the most popular girls of the grade and dialed before she could change her mind.

"Hello? This is the Johnson's. Who is this?" A female voice answered.

"Hi, this is Hermione Granger. Is Lottie there?"

"One moment." Footsteps sounded through the phone. Then girls laughing. _Perfect!_

Quiet murmurs. Then a younger girl's voice. "Hey."

"Hi...Lottie?"

"Yes. Who are you?" Laughter.

"Hermione Granger, from school. Remember me? I left right after your eleventh birthday."

"Oh yeah, for that private school. What's up? Why didn't you call my cell?"

"I was wondering if you were free to go out with some friends. I lost your number," Hermione lied.

"Oh, sure! Come on over! You remember where I live?"

"Of course!" Hermione said quickly.

"Okay, see you soon!"

"Bye!" The phone clicked.

Hermione put it up with a sigh of relief. _That went well...So far, so good._

When she arrived at the grand mansion Lottie called a 'house', Hermione fingered her necklace nervously. Lottie was one of those preppy, snobby girls she normally stayed far away from. So why was she walking into the lion's den?

_No, I'm the lion. I am a Gryffindor! And we are brave! _She had to remind herself.

So she strode confidently up to the door and rang the doorbell. Within moments, she heard excited squeals and a horde of dyed-blond girls assaulted the expensive-looking door. They pulled her inside and bombarded her with questions before dragging her upstairs to Lottie's room and giving her a complete makeover, including expensive shoes, clothes, accessories, and makeup. Lottie's mother offered them food and took them all to the movies, where they met up with some guys, and one of the cutest boys Hermione had ever seen.

"He's single. His name's Jack Williams. He admires confidence. Go on!" Lottie hissed in Hermione's ear. "You look totally adorable! Just keep your cool and whatever you do, don't trip!" The girls all winked and giggled before shoving Hermione over.

Jack turned around just in time to catch an armful of dressed-up, extremely embarrassed, bookworm. "Whoa, there. Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine. Just messing around." Hermione replied, thinking fast. She shoved another girl into the group, sending giggling girls everywhere.

Jack laughed. "Okay. Why don't we go get some seats?" he offered. "It's a lot harder to fall and break something that way." He flashed her a wink. The girls all cooed.

Jack sat next to Hermione right as the movie started, and from then on until the end, she heard nothing but his voice. They talked about many things, mostly him talking about celebrities, and who was dating who. Hermione just kept gazing into his gorgeous eyes, they were a brilliant shade of blue, which went perfectly with his brown hair.

After the movies, they all stood around outside and waited for their rides. Jack moved off to the side to call his parents, and came back looking worried.

"Hey, Lottie, can you give me a ride home?" he asked. "My parents are working and can't pick me up."

"Sure," Lottie replied. "Here's my mom."

Somehow, there weren't enough seats, and Hermione ended up in Jack's lap. She tried to hide the fact she was very self-conscious, but she knew it showed. By the time they reached Jack's house, he was fidgeting and upset, and pulled Hermione off to the side as the other girls ransacked his kitchen.

He flicked her curls over her shoulder and gazed into her eyes. "This isn't normal for you, is it?"

"No," she admitted. "I just wanted a night out for fun."

"Well...I'm sorry, but you're not really my type, then. See ya around." he said and walked away. Just like that. Hermione stared after him for a moment, before her vision blurred, and tears rolled down her face.

_Why am I so upset? I just met the guy! Surely he can't mean that much to me!_

Surprisingly, she wasn't that far from home. She told another girl what had happened, and asked her to tell Lottie that Hermione was walking home. The girl giggled and nodded, running quickly back inside, but not before Hermione saw Jack and Lottie kissing in the doorway.

Her heart felt like it was being ripped to pieces. She turned and ran, not stopping until she reached her house.

She paced around her room until she looked at the calendar. She was supposed to leave for King's Cross when her parents came back in two days. She decided to owl Ron and ask if she could stay there until her parents came back. Mrs. Weasley had become like a second mother to her, and she needed a mother badly right now.

Hermione wrote a letter to Mrs. Weasley and sent it off with Errol, who had been recovering in her room from delivering Ron's message telling her when they were leaving for King's Cross. Then she went to bed and cried herself to sleep.

When Hermione woke the next morning, she found Errol tapping at her window with a reply attached to his leg. Mrs. Weasley had said of course, and they would come pick her up around noon. Hermione quickly cleaned up, packed her things, and called her parents to tell them to meet her at King's Cross in two days. They wanted to come home to be with her, but seeing as they were on a business meeting, that wasn't possible.

So they agreed to let her go stay with the Weasleys, who showed up a little after twelve to take her back with them.

Once at the Burrow, Hermione made herself right at home by talking and laughing with Ginny and the boys. They even convinced her to play a game of Quidditch with them before bed.

By the time everyone else was packing for King's Cross, Hermione again found herself sitting staring at a blank page of her diary. Sighing, she picked up her quill.

_All I learned was that I'm not a normal girl. And no guy would ever like me like that. But where does that leave me? All I want is to fit in...to have people around who love me, who I love, and for us to all have fun together the way others do...Is that so wrong?_

She paused to think, looking over at the door, out into the hallway. Ron stopped on his way down the stairs. "Hey, 'Mione, want to play a game of Exploding Snap?" he asked, blushing slightly for some reason.

Hermione could feel her own cheeks reddening. "Sure, give me a minute. I'll be right down." she promised.

"Okay. See you." Ron mumbled before rushing down the stairs.

Hermione smiled. "Oh, Ronald..." she whispered giddily.

Turning back to her diary, she finished her entry.

_Or maybe I just needed to open my eyes to see what I have in front of me. I'm fine the way I am, so I'll stay this way!_

_Five Things I Never Knew About Myself:_

_I want to be normal._

_I can be normal._

_I like being normal._

_I'm in love._

_I love myself just the way I am!_

She closed the diary and went downstairs, greatly looking forward to her future.


	5. By: Ami: Gryffindor: Remus Lupin

******Title:** 5 Ways to Win a Werewolf's Heart

**Character: **Remus Lupin

******House: **Gryffindor

******Name:** Ami L. Mendal (Ami)

_5 Ways to Win a Werewolf's Heart_, by Remus Lupin (submitted to _The Daily Prophet_)

The Wizarding World is a very unique environment. Some people hate my kind, while others are drawn to them. I've been harassed, assaulted, petitioned against, and even worse things. On the other hand, some women are attracted to me like a vampire to blood. I've never understood it, nor do I think I ever will, but sometimes, that's just the way things are.

I was asked, er… I was_ volunteered_, to elaborate on a stiflingly difficult subject. Yes, werewolves; more specifically, werewolves and romance. I came up with five reasonable methods to swoon the werewolf of your choice. Of course, I must warn you, not every werewolf is the same, so continue at your own risk.

**Wit**. As with most men, I am particularly fond of cleverness and wit.

When a woman can burn you with a comeback without missing a beat, I consider that a wonderful quality. In my opinion, and I stress that this is only an opinion, wit is a highly underestimated quality in a woman.

Let me shine some light on this subject: Two years ago, I was visiting the Weasley family at their home. The youngest boy, Ron, was attempting to sweet-talk his long-adored classmate and girlfriend. Ron's sister, the youngest of the Weasley clan, walked in the back door with a laundry basket of fresh linens on her hip.

"They say the eyes are the window to the soul, you know." Ron said, looking lovingly into Hermione Granger's eyes.

Quick as a whip, Ginny adjusted her hold on the basket and smiled, "Don't tell that to the Dementors," she said, before walking up the stairs.

That, my dear readers, is one of the most important qualities of all.

**Charm**. This is not to say that a witch needs to excel in the art of Charms, but merely that she be charming.

Anyone can come up with excuses, or what youngsters like to call "reasoning", but it's quite difficult to make them believable. Even more difficult, though, is having a bollocks excuse but having enough charm to convince the person otherwise.

As I've always loved to share, the year I taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was one of the best years of my life. I was comfortable and in the place I loved most; I could teach my favorite subject and watch my friend's child grow. Yet, these are not the only things I loved there.

School isn't all that much different from when I attended: you go to class (sometimes), do your homework (sometimes), you sit with you friends and you lie. Yup, lying is still a huge thing at Hogwarts.

'A House Elf ate my homework,' was the most common lie, but only next to, 'No, those robes do not make you look fat, darling.' I tell you, being a teenager has not changed much. Where was I? Oh yes, charm.

A woman must be charming in the sense that she can get her way without seeming pushy, bossy or overbearing. She doesn't need to hint at potential birthday gifts or a romantic date. Charm has a way of working it all out for her and, hopefully, her companion.

**Food**. This one is a no-brainer.

Werewolves become very picky when it comes to their meals. When I was a boy, I hated any red meat that wasn't blackened to a crisp, and my father had a helluva time trying to keep my appetite in a healthy place. After my "accident" (as so many people call it behind my back), I couldn't stand the smell of a too-cooked steak; it literally made me nauseous. My mother was lucky if the groceries made it home from the store before I ripped the package open. Mind you, I was young and not quite in control of my "condition". These days, I enjoy relaxing with a medium-rare rib eye in front of me, and a glass of Butterbeer after that. Food is a vital role in the principles of love, but not just when it comes to meat.

Not many people know this (and I'm sure that's about to change), but werewolves are very keen on white chocolate. Don't ask why, because that's a particular question I don't have the answer for. White chocolate truffles, white chocolate tea, white chocolate chip cookies with white chocolate frosting – the list is endless. So yes, red meat and white chocolate should be kept handy any time the werewolf of your liking is near.

**Audacity**. This one may surprise you, but do not be alarmed.

Most people hear 'audacity' and immediately jump to a negative conclusion, when in fact it can be a handy trait, especially when used correctly.

Audacity can be best described as fearlessness while still fearing, and challenging others when you really believe in something. You can be bold without being rude, you can be daring without being ignorant. It's all about equilibrium.

Audacity, in itself, is a firm head and a soft heart. You have to love something, _anything_ at all, and really believe it. It's sticking to your wand when you're backed in a corner, no matter what others are telling you. It's honest and it's very difficult to portray without sounding like a twit.

Don't forget the other part: daring. Honestly, everyone knows being with a werewolf can be dangerous. After all, nearly every month has a full moon and that in itself is clearly a hazard to your health. It takes bravery and courage to go steady with a werewolf. (I find these terms too similar to the qualities of Gryffindor House, and do not want to deter anyone from seeking their true mate, if you so wish it to be; hence, the choice in _audacity_, yes?)

**Intelligence**. Let me remind you that this is only an opinion: this is only an opinion. Okay? Perfect.

Some werewolves, (and men in general, really), like the… well… let's call them "Less-Than-Academic" females (to put it nicely. Some would say "ditsy" and I would call that inconsiderate, but I digress).

Through all of this, I find that most werewolves are attracted to highly educated, or seemingly educated, mates. Even if it is not formal education, any woman that can come across as properly trained in any field of study shows a certain quality that immediately attracts the pure instincts in a werewolf.

Think about it this way: strong, dominate mate who can take care of themselves if it comes down to the grid, or weak and fragile individual who needs you for every little thing? Of course, you may not consider these points connection, but I promise you that, in a werewolf's eyes, intelligence is equivalent to strength.


	6. By: Mia: Gryffindor: Lily Evans

******Title: **___Five Little Words_

******Character:** Lily Potter neé Evans

******House:** Gryffindor

******Name:** Heimarmene/Mia.

_**Summary: She was angry. He kissed her. She was happy. He kissed her. She was sad. He kissed her. She nearly died. He kissed her. He was so irresistibly...James. She kissed him. These are her first five bittersweet memories of his love.**_

_For Monse._

_()()()_

_**October. **_

"_Potter, for the last time, _no_, I will not go on a date with you!" _

My words bounce off the stone walls of the castle and reverberate around the small courtyard with a force they're not likely to see ever again. James Potter, completely unfazed, lounges at my feet and smirks up at me. "Y'know, Evans," he drawls, not even batting an eye, "it's a bloody shame you wore trousers today."

"Potter!" I hiss, instantly aware of everything within throwing distance. We're seventh years, Head Boy and Girl respectively, we shouldn't be doing this where students can see us. It's too late now, of course, there's already a crowd of eager first years ringing us. Someone starts a chant for a fight. Emmeline, Merlin bless her soul, makes great flapping motions and the student – a Slytherin second year, it just _has_ to be a Slytherin – resentfully quiets down. "Nothing to see here," I snap, "go on, shoo! Class has already started!"

Two Ravenclaws and a handful of Gryffindors rush off almost immediately. There are no Hufflepuffs in the crowd, they've probably already gone off to fetch a professor to break up poor mental Evans and perfect sodding Potter. "Shoo!" I repeat violently, and most of the remaining Gryffindors reluctantly peel off, complaining loudly, and head towards the castle or the greenhouses. A few Slytherins slouch off behind them. The only people remaining are Emmeline, Alice, and Frank, as well as a few sixth year snakes and the bloody Marauders.

I don't want to deal with this today. "Go!" I all but shriek at the little circle of my friends and his; my head is pounding, and I'm sure my cheeks are red, as I can feel the burning skin. Alice casts me a worried glance but seems to realize that I'm not at my best and takes Frank's hand. They hurry away, throwing looks over their shoulders. Remus, wonderful Remus, sees sense and grabs Pettigrew's shoulder and tows him away. "C'mon, Pete," I hear him say, "we've got Transfiguration next and you can't afford to fail that if you want to be an Auror."

Oh. Transfiguration. I've completely forgotten I have the same schedule as the Marauders. I can't miss one of McGonagall's classes, I'm already horrible as it is. Somehow, the four of them – well, Remus, Black, and Potter are, Pettigrew's ruddy awful – are brilliant at it, even though I've never seen any of them, save for Remus, practicing their spells or actually putting _effort_, Merlin forbid, into their assignments. All the same, Potter needs to be put in his place, once and for all.

Emmeline, Black, Potter, and I are the only ones left. The Slytherins have glided away, much to my eternal relief. "Potter," I begin. I'm working hard to maintain a calm façade, and it seems to be working, but it's fragile. "I am not a house elf, ready at your every beck and call. I do not appreciate your treating me as such."

"Aw, Evans," he says easily, pulling himself into a semi-sitting position, "now when have I ever done that? I mean, do you know anyone who's asked their house elf to Hogsmeade lately?" Black snickers and shifts his weight. I make it a point to aim my wand at him for just a second longer than needed. He quiets down, but not without a few crude gestures. "10 points from Gryffindor for the use of rude signs towards the Head Girl," I say primly. I relish the dumbfounded look on his face, and cut him off before he can begin to protest. "That's right, Black, I'm not afraid to take points from my own house."

"And 10 points _to_ Gryffindor," Potter jumps in, "for the excellent use of the middle finger, as performed by Sirius Black."

Black grins like he's won a hippogriff and waggles his eyebrows at me. "Now, Evans, we don't want Gryffindor to lose the House Cup again this year, do we?"

He has a point. Gryffindor dominates the Quidditch pitch, but with points constantly being deducted for the Marauders' various foolish pranks and such, we haven't won for three years consecutively. I want so badly to come away with the House Cup this year, so I don't argue or reprimand Potter for abuse of position, merely scowl. "Whatever, Black."

"Now, there's a good girl," Potter says brightly, pulling himself off the ground. He takes a step towards me and I instinctively take a step back and brandish my wand. "Stay away from me, Potter," I warn.

"Oi, Pads, she's feisty today," he smirks. "My favourite."

He says this every time I become angry at him. It's getting old, and it's a surefire way to a well-placed jinx or hex. He still hasn't picked up on this; it's a wonder he's survived this long. "Potter," I say sharply, "if you value all your appendages intact and attached, then I suggest you step out of my way and get to class."

"Evans," he enunciates, clearly paying attention to something other than my words, "you're bloody lovely when you're angry, you know that?"

That's it. That's the final straw. I'm tired today, I have a Transfiguration essay due, I'm cranky and hungry and missing my mum. It makes me want to scream. I'm not the prettiest girl at Hogwarts, nowhere near the title, and I know it, and he knows it too. He's dated the prettiest witch here at least three times. I turn red when I'm mad, my hands ball up and shake uncontrollably, and I look and sound like a little girl. I'm not impressive, dear Merlin no, I'm simply Lily Evans. I prefer the background to the spotlight. Simply Lily.

He's mocking me, I'm sure of it; he always takes some cheap shot at my appearance at least once daily. Normally, it's when I'm stressed about a homework assignment or scolding the Marauders, or some other troublemaker. His timing is impeccable today. "James Potter, you bleeding, _arrogant_ bastard," I snap, "I wish you would just go die in Hel – "

He jaunts forward before I can finish my train of thought. Suddenly, he's kissing me and I'm kissing him. I can't think, I don't know what to do. I should push him away like all the other times I've pushed him away, but for some reason today I can't. In this uncertain moment of rage and scared little-girl thoughts, he's addictive. This certainly isn't the first time he's stolen a kiss, and unless I end up killing him, I doubt it'll be the last. All the same, this time I can't get enough.

Ironically, it's Black's support that brings me back to my senses. He whoops ands applauds in the background, and right as my mind returns and I shove Potter off of me, I see Emmeline stomp viciously on Black's foot. "Two hundred points from Gryffindor," I shriek insanely, infinitely embarrassed by all that has transpired. "And DETENTION! Both of you! Two months!" For good measure, I slap Potter, hard, once, twice.

"Two months?" Black's complaining immediately, not even caring that I've hit his mate. "Aw, c'mon, Evans, it was just a harmless little snog, you can't seriously be thinking of – "

"THREE months!" I scream. The wind's picked up suitably and I'm sure I look quite mental; I can feel my face lighting up like a firework, and my hair is blowing all around my head, tangled with bright October leaves. "Now GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!"

Potter looks dazed. "You're so pretty," he mumbles to me, holding his cheek tenderly. Black rolls his eyes. "C'mon, Prongsie old boy, can't have you acting like a bigger sap than you already are," he snorts, frogmarching Potter out of the courtyard and away without a backwards glance.

I scream.

No matter what Remus says, sodding Potter hasn't changed a bit.

_()()()_

_**November.**_

I wake up feeling inexplicably happy. I don't entirely know what it is, maybe it's because there's a Hogsmeade trip tomorrow, but I have an inkling that that's not it. There's a Hogsmeade trip tomorrow and Potter hasn't asked me out to The Three Broomsticks or Madame Puddifoot's.

Not _once._

This simple fact makes me want to dance and laugh and sing, even though I never sing or dance because I'm absolutely rubbish at both. I can laugh, however, so I do. I waltz through my morning routine – so maybe I _can_ dance – and nearly skip down to breakfast. Emmeline's tall, much taller than me, and she has to run to keep up. She's panting when we make our appearance at the long table on the far left. I find this far funnier than it really is. I tell Alice this and she smiles warily at me, like she's afraid I might blow at any moment, but I'm far too high on the drug of life to care.

It's the morning of the third Quidditch match of the year, Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw. It's also the first game that Gryffindor's played, as the previous two matches were Slytherin-Hufflepuff and Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw. Nearly all the occupants of the table are dressed in gold and red, prepared for the game. Emmeline is too, I notice, but of course she is, it's required. She's a Chaser for the team, and since Potter was named Seeker in fifth year, she's now the star Chaser and reserve captain. To my surprise, I'm entirely in blue and black and silver. Team-traitor Evans, I am.

To make my morning better, there's no sight of Potter or Black anywhere in the Great Hall. Remus and Pettigrew are at the end of the table, but the other two aren't to be seen. For the first time since August, I eat my morning meal in peace – no exploding doves filled with love letters, no fleet of broomsticks bursting into the hall with handsome blokes who sing, no nothing except blissful chatter about the upcoming match.

When I finish my toast, I'm in such a good mood that I declare to the entire table that I've decided to go down to the pitch with the others and watch the whole game. For a split second, there's silence. Every student who hears my vocalized verdict simply sits and stares. Food falls out of one small second year's mouth. Then a huge cheer goes up, because every self-respecting Gryffindor knows that Lily Evans _never_ watches an entire match, ever. Frank and Benjy jump up and lift me onto their shoulders and suddenly a crowd's swirling around us, chanting my name and laughing uproariously. McGonagall comes up to the group and demands we take our wild party outside the Great Hall, albeit with a slight smile on her face. Slowly, as not to lose anyone, the mob maneuvers around itself and makes its way to the door, loud as ever. I'm still in the air when Potter and Black burst through the doors and stop dead in their tracks, staring bemusedly at us. Belatedly, I realize what it must look like – they must think that I've consumed great quantities of firewhisky to allow this to happen. I consider telling Frank and Benjy to put me down, before I grasp the fact that I simply don't care. Think what they like, I'm untouchable today.

"Oi," Black calls as we move nearer, "what the ruddy hell is going on here?"

"Lily's coming down to watch the game!" Frank whoops. "_Actually _watch the game."

Black's expression goes slack for a moment before he too begins shouting in excitement.

"Anyone special?" Potter teases over the ruckus we're creating, his hand jumping to his hair. We're close enough to see the sparkle in his eyes, and for the first time in forever, I can see how witches think of him as handsome. I also notice that something seems a little different. He's not wearing his usual Potter-the-great smirk; instead, a playful little grin has stolen its place. It's not the first time I've seen this, he's been wearing it more and more since we agreed on a truce and tentative friendship last month.

"No," I shout back, "not unless you're counting Thomas Goldstein!"

It's somewhat of a running joke here in Gryffindor house, Thomas Goldstein and Lily Evans forever. Thomas is three years older than I, and for four years, he didn't even know I existed. On the first day of my fourth year, the Hogwarts Express had barely pulled out of King's Cross Station when Potter and Black had begun taunting and provoking Snape when I was elsewhere. By the time I had made it back into the right car, an all-out brawl had started, lions against snakes. A flying elbow had caught me in the temple as I opened the car door, and I had fallen back, into the arms of Head Boy Thomas Goldstein, eldest brother of fourth year Ravenclaw Christopher Goldstein.

Emmeline and Hestia had arrived in time to witness his concerned questions regarding my welfare. Having no idea what I was doing in his arms, half supported by him, they jumped to the most logical conclusion that a fourteen year old girl's mind will supply – romance. Of course, after that day, I fancied the bloke something rotten for about six months, until I found out that he and Head Girl Marie Branwell, a very nice Gryffindor, were dating. To this day, I am mercilessly teased, but I find I don't mind.

I come back to roaring laughter. We've made it out of the Great Hall and are advancing towards the path to the Quidditch pitch. Black and Potter have joined the group, and I'm still in the air. It's really not _so_ awful, I suppose, but I still infinitely prefer trains and other ground-bound forms of transportation.

In a whirlwind of red and gold and loud cheering, we arrive at the rapidly filling stadium. I'm carried up, up, up, right to the top Gryffindor box. With the sheer number of followers I have somehow amassed, we easily take it over. Somewhere along the line, we've lost Emmeline, Hestia, Black, and Potter, presumably to the change rooms. Frank and Benjy settled me on the bench like I'm royalty, then Frank waves at us before running down to change for the match. Benjy throws himself down beside me and casually flings an arm around my shoulder. Remus is on my other side, Alice on the bench in front of me.

"Keepers," Benjy says in mock disgust, shaking his head at Frank's retreating back. "Such honorable blokes. I don't think my reputation can handle it much longer." We all laugh because Benjy himself is probably the most trusting, truthful person any of us will ever meet.

In due time, the captains shake hands, the match starts, and I am glued to the action. I don't understand over half of the plays, but I am intrigued by the agile grace of the players. Benjy and Remus spend nearly the entire match explaining the game, but it all goes right over my head. I watch the players of the Gryffindor team alternately, mostly focusing on Em and Frank and Hest. However, by the fifth or sixth goal, I find myself completely captivated by Potter. For a fleeting moment, I'm glad we're now friends, because Alice will inevitably turn around and catch me staring, but at least this time I'll have an excuse.

The game, it seems, is over before I can blink. Potter catches the snitch after a tight race with the Ravenclaw Seeker, and the team descends in ecstasy. All around me, the stands erupt with loud chants and cheers. I'm on my feet with the rest of them, shouting my support and dancing like a madwoman with Benjy, when Potter remounts his broom and the commentator shoots off some snarky comment that I completely miss because Potter's remounted his broom _and is flying this way_.

Person by person, the stands silence as they watch him. I see a few quizzical faces turn up to me, but most of the attention centers upon the Seeker. I don't know what he's got in mind exactly, but I don't know if I'll even care all that much. We've won, the game is over; what can go wrong? I'm at the top of the world and invincible.

I'm only partly surprised when he hovers in the air in front of me. Alice's eyes are wide and she's got that look that she gets when she's stumbled across something romantic. "What do you want, Potter?" I say, but today, there's no real malice. I sound happy, friendly, everything I haven't been towards him for six years. He floats in front of me silently for a moment more. I get the feeling that I'm being evaluated, though for what, I'm not sure. It's not the type of body-sweep that most men use; no, it's more of a psychological assessment than anything.

Even the professors are watching with a ravenous hunger as time slows and Potter leans forward presses a kiss to my cheek. "My lucky charm," he mutters into my ear, before taking off back into the pitch.

The crowds holler and hoot as the team regroups in midair. I don't know what to make of this, so I just smile as wide as I can because I'm still happy.

He didn't ask me out to Hogsmeade.

_()()()_

_**December.**_

I think the biggest reason I hate Christmas is because it's the anniversary of my parents' deaths.

Exactly one year ago today, I boarded the Hogwarts Express to go home for the winter holidays, Emmeline along with me. The ride itself is only a blurry flash in my mind, but I remember that the kind trolley lady offered us hot cocoa and peppermint, something Emmeline hated and I loved. Potter, Black, and Remus had all been on the train with us, and we had ended up sharing a compartment.

That was the first time that I truly appreciated James Potter's company. That December day, with just the five of us comfortably crammed beside each other on the long red plush benches that served as seats. Black had brought along a pack of Exploding Snap cards, declaring himself master of the game and challenging us to beat him. Em, despite her hatred of Black for the first prank the Marauders had ever pulled, and Potter took up the bet immediately, laughing and taunting. Remus pulled out a book, rolling his eyes good-naturedly at me over the pages.

Eventually, he and I drifted over to the game. To everyone's surprise but Black's, our team lost spectacularly. The afternoon was passed in pleasant company, the silences between laugher filled with idle chatter and piles of pastries and sweets. Black was hilariously, ridiculously flirtatious; Emmeline was civil to him and a laugh riot for us; Remus was a gentleman, as always; Potter, wonder of wonders, was polite and considerate, if not a bit cruel in his imitations of the members of Slytherin house. By that point, I had stopped caring about snakes. But that's not the most important bit of the day. What happens after that is the part that matters the most.

Almost the moment we entered the Muggle-filled section of King's Cross Station, I was assaulted by someone very familiar. My aunt Summer was in distress, that much was clear; she was crying too hard to speak. Potter instantly morphed into the kind of boy who's never done a deed wrong in his life, and led us all to a secluded little ticket office. He calmed my aunt, and over the course of the ten longest minutes of my life, coaxed the story from her.

January and Daniel Evans were dead.

My parents. Mum and Dad. Gone, never coming back.

It had been an accident; before coming to meet me at the train, they had gone to the market. On the way back to the house to drop off the groceries, an elderly man had suffered a heart attack behind the wheel. His car had sailed through the intersection and hit ours dead on. Death had been instantaneous. The steering column had gone through Dad's chest and Mum's throat was sliced open by a flying shard of windshield glass.

I cried into everyone's shoulders that day – Emmeline's, Remus's, even Black's. But the one that stands out the most is Potter's – Potter, who was kind and collected and nothing more than an acquaintance. Potter, who had never met Dan and Janey, but who grieved for them all the same.

James Potter, the boy who had mercilessly teased and taunted me for six years, grew into a man that day. He took the deaths of my parents very seriously, as though all the responsibilities of my world had fallen into his hands. While I cried and pitied myself and missed my parents, he arranged the funeral, went through their will with Petunia and I; he even went so far as to secure living spaces for both of us.

Looking back on this, I suppose I really shouldn't be all that alarmed when I hear footsteps climbing the stairs to my tower. I know it's him before he enters; I'm the only one who uses the Tower of Ghosts, and he's the only one who's ever found me. It's such an un-Lily Evans place to hide that no one's ever guessed, and I like it that way. Who would think that Lily, with her fear of heights, would tuck herself away in the second-tallest turret in all of Hogwarts?

"Hello, Potter," I say, my voice cracked and raw. One of the best things about this tower is its isolation. No one can hear my tears, so I cry as hard as I please, for as long as I need to. By this point, I've been here most of the day, sniffing and sobbing alternately, with no one's company but that of a good book and the shadows of everyone who's been torn away from me by death. My throat is raw from wailing and I'm lightheaded from lack of nourishment; I'm surprised I can manage even that meager greeting.

"Hullo, Evans," he says, uncharacteristically sombre. He knows what I'm blatting about, but he doesn't mention it. He knows I prefer memories over words sometimes. It's surprising, that he knows these things of mine while I still don't know what his favourite color is. The scariest part is that he doesn't ask Emmeline or Hestia or Alice about things he wants to know, he _observes_ them himself.

Silently, he sets a tray full of his offerings beside me – a box of the best Honeydukes chocolates, a plate stacked with waffles covered with fresh strawberries and dusted with white sugar, a half-eaten box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, and an enormous mug of hot cocoa with a stick of peppermint candy, just the way I like it. "The other three sent these up for you," he explains quietly. "Remus has been hoarding that chocolate since last month, but he figured you need it more than he does. And Sirius said waffles cure everything. And Pete – well, Pete tried." He scratches the back of his head sheepishly. "Hope I'm not intruding."

"You're definitely intruding," I say, "but you can stay if you like. I'm planning on going to go down soon anyways." This isn't the truth, but the Tower of Ghosts is as cold as its namesake occupants, and I'll soon be forced into a warmer setting, should I want it or not. The waffles are still hot, I can see the steam against the chilly air. I haven't eaten since breakfast and I'm famished but knowing Black, he's stuck a Color-Changing draught into the batter in a rather misguided attempt to lift my spirits. Potter catches my glances and chuckles. "They haven't been messed with," he assures me. "Remus personally supervised the elves. There's no chance anything got past him."

I'm not going to argue. There are two forks on the plate. I pass him one wordlessly and we eat in relative silence. I like to think we get along best when there's no sound, as there's nothing for him to make a joke of and therefore nothing for me to yell at. It's a foolproof system, really, I don't know how we didn't discover this method of co-existing survival before September.

Eventually, we finish off the stack of waffles and my insides feel warm and muzzy, that kind of feeling that you get when you know you're loved. I'm tired all of a sudden, and I yawn. Potter noticed this and scrambles to his feet. "C'mon, Evans," he says, "let's get to bed. Er – I mean, your bed! You! In your own bed!"

It's a rare occasion that I catch James Potter – or any of the Marauders, really – putting their foot in their mouth. His face is flushed in the torchlight, his glasses are crooked on his nose, and his hair is messier than it was when he came up. I want to laugh but I don't. He coughs awkwardly and a snicker escapes. "Whatever you say, Potter," I giggle. I've gone barmy, I'm sure of it, but I just can't bring myself to care at the moment. We gather up the chocolate and dishes and make our way down the stairs. I'm still giggling like a drunken idiot, and he's throwing out the occasional comment.

By the time we reach the portrait of the Fat Lady and stammer out the password, the common room's deserted. There's a slight fire still flickering in the grate, casting eerie, twisted versions of ourselves onto the walls. I feel like we're too loud when we breathe, but that just goes to show how tired I really am. After thanking Potter for his provisions and bidding him a good night, I stumble towards the stairs. Suddenly, his hand's on my arm. "Sleep well, Lily," he intones, and leans forward to brush his mouth over my forehead before bounding up his own staircase and out of sight.

That night, I dream of a boy named Harry.

()()()

_**February.**_

It's the second Hogsmeade trip of the new year, and much to my delight, it's a nice day. The air is crisp and clean, the snow still white and only a little melted – it's the time for snowballs and snow forts, epic battles of aim and impact. I point this out to my friends as we meander down the cobblestone path that so many times before has brought us to the friendly little village below. Emmeline laughs heartily when I suggest it and leans over to scoop up a handful of snow. I shriek in anticipation and hide behind Alice, who's the tallest of the four of us. Little Hestia, beside us, is barely five feet tall.

"Shh." Em holds a finger to her lips as we round a bend and the group ahead of comes into view. It's the Marauders, laughing rowdily and shoving each other and no doubt planning pranks to play on Valentine's Day next week. They remind me of puppies, tumbling over each other with their eager eyes and floppy hair. Even Remus, who's usually so studious and quiet, is partaking in the gaiety today. As we watch, Sirius and James each pull something from their pocket and lob them away from the path. There's a boom and an impressive puff of smoke when they land. When the smog lifts, a glittering red tree stands in its place.

I'm impressed, I can't deny it. It's a valentine tree; the leaves are made of hearts and the branches seem to be inscribed with verse. A little pink sign pops out of the ground by its roots, as glittery as the tree itself. I want to read it, but Emmeline rushes ahead before I can, snowball held aloft. Alice grabs my hand and I take Hestia's and together we run down the path after our friend. Just as we reach Em, she launches her small cold projectile. We all stand together and watch with mounting expectation as it sails through the air, higher, higher, higher, until it descends and hits Sirius square in the back of the head.

Sirius whips around to face us as James slaps his shoulder in a cheery manner and positively roars with laughter. Sirius shakes a mockingly threatening fist at us before diving at his best mate, knocking him off his feet and into a snow bank. There's an enormous pouf of snow when they land, rocketing into the sky and then fluttering delicately to the ground. Remus deliberately rolls his eyes and wanders over to inspect the valentine tree. Peter is hopping from foot to foot, calling out encouragement to both boys in the snow. They're locked in a friendly tussle, shooting harmless insults at each other and grinning so wide I fear they might hurt themselves. We laugh as we pass them. Emmeline throws another snowball at them, but it goes wide and completely misses them. We hightail it into the village, giggling and shouting.

We've scoured Zonko's and are raiding Honeydukes when they finally catch up to us. "Vance!" Sirius shouts, bursting into the shop, hands held behind his back. The other three follow with varying expressions; Remus looks amused, James seems to be holding back laughter, and Peter is giving off the impression that he's looking forward to making use of the water closet as soon as Sirius is done with his revenge. Emmeline turns from her inspection of the sugar quills with a distracted, "Hmm?"

The snowball hits her just under the collar bone. "BLACK!" she shrieks immediately, so loud that Alice and Hestia shoot furtive glances at the owner, who appears not to have noticed and is instead employed at the counter measuring out cockroach clusters for a group of Slytherins. Emmeline turns to me, slaps three Galleons into my palm, orders me to buy her as many sugar quills as I can, and chases Sirius out of the shop. Alice and Hestia snicker and turn back to their perusal of sugar, but I watch Em and Sirius for a moment longer though Honeydukes' front window. Sometimes I doubt that Em really hates Sirius as much as she says she does.

I turn back to my browsing when they run around the corner, no doubt screaming insults at each other that the rest of us won't understand. Remus walks past and hands me a little mesh basket with the Honeydukes logo embroidered on the side. We're both faithful worshippers of the sugar shoppe's cult, and he knows I'll need it. "Thanks," I say, and put a bar of chocolate into his basket. "New flavour," I explain. "I think you'll like it."

He checks the label and grins at me. "Why, Miss Evans, I do believe I will," he says, and we part ways amicably. I make my rounds, stock up for another month – white chocolate-raspberry bars, almond fudge, chocolate frogs, and three pounds of of sugar quills for Emmeline, who, after over half an hour, is still gone. And, of course, cauldron cakes, which are decadent and hot and chocolatey and my only consolation during the late night study sessions with only my shadow for company. I pick up assorted candies and two cases of Fizzing Whizpop and four new flavours of chocolate as I head to the counter. I meet Remus in line and we compare our purchases as the shopkeeper rings them through. We round up the other four in the store, and tell them we'll meet in The Three Broomsticks.

The day's gotten cold and overcast while we were inside Honeydukes. Each clutching a bulging paper sack ready to burst, we hurry to The Three Broomsticks, laughing and speculating where Emmeline and Sirius have disappeared to in turn. Remus shares my doubt of Emmeline's claims of hating Sirius. We have a grand time discussing their possible escape venues.

"Hogwarts," I say, spotting the restaurant's sign. "The Astronomy tower."

"Nah," he sniggers, "Sirius's more likely to go right for the first broom closet he sees."

"Madame Puddifoot's, then," I guess, kicking happily at snow with my boots.

"Plausible, but unlikely," he agrees, holding the door open for me. The room's packed wall to wall with students.

"True." I spot an empty table in the back and tow him after me. "Alright, so maybe Em wouldn't like that much…"

"Far too much pink," Remus laughs. "You'll have a coronary when you see what she's done to the place since last year."

The waitress comes and goes and we talk about everything, schoolwork, Peter's malfunctioning broom, Alice and Frank, even Hestia's plans to move back to her native France once we graduate; everything that's at once meaningful and meaningless. When twenty minutes pass and there's still no sign of our friends, the conversation takes a markedly dangerous turn.

"Lily," Remus starts, "don't take this the wrong way, but what's happening between you and James?"

"What?" I feel my eyebrows shoot up my forehead.

"Let me rephrase," Remus says hastily. "What I meant is, what's going on with you and him? Every day you treat him a little bit differently."

"Do I?" I honestly haven't noticed. I always assume I'm the same. "I'm not quite sure what you mean."

He blows a puff of air through his lips. "Well, today for example. You're not ignoring him, exactly, but you're not talking to him either. But yesterday you were practically climbing over the desks to talk to him after Transfiguration. I just want to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine, _Dad_," I grumble. "Thanks anyways."

He rolls his eyes. "You know how much he cares about you, don't you, Lily?" he asks quietly. The question catches me off-guard. "We're friends," I hedge. "I should hope he cares about me."

"That's not what I'm talking about." He rubs his forehead. I can tell he's discussed this many times with someone, most likely Peter, who, out of the remaining three, seems like the only candidate likely to listen. "James fancies you, Lily. He still does, even though he claims he's grown out of it. He's very protective of you, but he doesn't even realize he's defending you, because he's gotten so used to it."

"That's…interesting." And more than I bargained for. "I – I don't really know what to say, actually."

"My apologies." Remus sits back. "I'm not trying to pressure you into fancying him, honestly I'm not, but I just thought you would be better off if you knew a bit of what he's feeling."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

For once, we're both silent. I sip my butterbeer and allow the warmth of the drink, the room, the surrounding chatter to envelope me. We remain this way for perhaps ten minutes when I look around and by chance spot the rest of our group winding their way towards our table. "Oh, bugger," I yelp, "I forgot I have a…broken fingernail! I'll be in the ladies' room!"

I flee the table as James, Em, Sirius, and the rest – they've apparently managed to track down the fugitives – arrive at my recently vacated seat. I push open the door of the restroom with a sigh of relief and then stop cold.

On the white tiled floor is a woman. She's dead, I can already tell, just by the unnatural twist of her limbs. Her eyes are blue, wide and unseeing; her hair looks like it used to be blonde, but now that it's been saturated with blood, it's hard to tell. In life, she would have been pretty; now, she's my warning. I back up, one hand behind me, searching for the doorknob. In the other I draw my wand and clutch it tightly. "Who are you and what do you want?" I demand. My fingers are curled around the handle when a gruff voice speaks.

"Tha's none o' yer business, girlie," a man grunts. I look up and scream. He's perched on the railing on top of the stall closest to me. His lips are drawn back in a feral grin and for a second I think I know him. Then I realize that I've seen him in the Daily Prophet; I'm trapped in the ladies' room with Fenir Greyback, werewolf, murderer, Death Eater. "Now, now," he continues, his voice almost a coo, "no need ta get all werked up 'bout nothin', girlie."

I scream in response. I've just noticed the girl's throat. It's mangled and oozing blood. I can see stains around Greyback's mouth and suddenly I'm filled with a cold sense of dread that failed to kick in the moment I first saw the girl.

"Shut yer gob," snarls a second voice. A gaunt wizard steps out from around the corner of a stall, wand aimed at my heart. "Or I'll shut it fer ye."

"I – how did you get in here?" I demand instead, brandishing my own wand. Above me, Greyback makes a show of licking his lips and baring his teeth. "Never ye worry 'bout tha'," he growls. "Yer dead, ye hear? Go ahead, girlie, scream, it ain't gonna do ye no good."

I take a breath and begin screaming for England. I'm screaming so loudly that I don't hear what the thin wizard says, only see a jet of blue light erupt from his wand and feel it hit me. At first, there's nothing. Then there's everything. I don't know what he used, but it's carved a line from my ribcage to my hip. Suddenly, there's a lot more blood on the floor and I'm gasping for breath. I hear cackling above as I fall to my knees, hands firmly pressed to my side. The door explodes violently inward as I tuck myself into a ball, and suddenly James is there, wand in hand and murder in his eyes. "STUPEFY!" he roars, and the thin wizard, caught off guard, topples over. I hear him hit the floor a foot away from where I am.

Greyback snarls his rage and suddenly there's a chorus of curses and spells. I close my eyes but I can still see the seven jets of light as they soar over my body. I'm vaguely aware of someone shouting, "Let me through, I work at Saint Mungo's, let me see the girl!" A moment later, I feel soft, womanly hands poking and prodding me. I let her. There's a harsh, whispered exchange, and the woman leaves. In her place is a man, with large calloused hands that are surprisingly gentle as the lift me.

I struggle to open my eyes. I'm being carried by James, I can tell that much before my eyelids close against my orders. "James," I mumble, "I'm scared."

"So am I," I hear him confide. There's a soft pressure on my temple before I fully slip under.

The next day, when I wake up in Saint Mungo's, I ask Emmeline if he kissed me.

She laughs at me. I insist on the answer.

She says yes.

_()()()_

_**April.**_

It's been two months since the attack and finally people aren't always treating me as though I'm a porcelain doll. I'm very grateful; now, Remus allows me to carry my own books to class, Sirius has stopped insisting that I let him carry me up and down stairs, McGonagall has reluctantly begun assigning me homework once again. It's a relief, to be able to do what I please, without consulting my traveling show of amateur doctors if it's allowable to sit in the sun or the shade.

Some people haven't let it go. Emmeline still shadows my every step, and Alice makes it a point to give me a hug every time we pass in the corridors. James continues to stare. Several times I have asked what his gazes are for, but he always waves it away and asks if I'm warm enough.

It's a Quidditch day today, the last match of the season, Gryffindor against Slytherin. I'm unspeakably excited; the Marauders were adamant that I stay in the common room and listen from there, but Emmeline argued and pleaded and screamed and begged on my behalf until they grudgingly agreed that I may watch. I take my time dressing, making sure I have all my Gryffindor paraphernalia on hand. Hestia declares that we need a banner; we pull a sheet from Alice's bed and set to work. By breakfast, we have a presentably charmed flag depicting the mighty lions that we are.

Breakfast itself is a rowdy affair. The entire house has been infected by team spirit, and all along the table, there are random outbursts of song and dance. The sixth year girls have made chants about all the players, and they make sure to repeat their awful couplets all throughout the meal, weaving in and out of sync. We're all too anxious and excited to care.

When the doors open and the team strides in, we all jump onto the benches and scream, clap, whistle. James and Emmeline and Sirius sit down to a flurry of well-wishers and handshakes. I squeeze my way in between Em and James, and proceed to butter toast for the entire team. Since my first game, it's become almost a ritual; the players won't think to eat unless someone physically hands them food and rattles off a list of reasons of why it's beneficial to eat before a match. I have been appointed this position. I have a team shirt that has _Team Nutritionist_ emblazoned on the back, and my number, 83, a Christmas gift from the players. I wear it proudly.

The required half-hour of mealtime passes almost excruciatingly slowly. The players are fidgety, eager to be on the pitch and beating Slytherin. On my left, Emmeline gazes into space and impatiently drums her fingers on the tabletop, her elbow firmly planted in an empty cereal bowl. On my right, James is holding a halting conversation with Sirius, who is possibly the only semi-calm member of the team. James's leg bumps against mine as it jitters nervously.

The solemn march to the pitch seems agonizingly long this time. I follow the team into the change room, to sit in on their pep talk. James is nervous, anyone can see that, as he trips over his words and repeats his sentences endlessly. Sirius and I end up detailing the plays for him. Remus and Benjy have succeeded in turning me into an avid Quidditch follower; I now understand every word that comes out of Sirius's mouth, with the exception of 'Lost Chimera Maneuver'. I conclude that I missed a practice somewhere along the line.

When it's time for the team to enter the pitch, I give each and every one of them a hug. I elect to watch from the team box, a decision that the reserve team doesn't seem to mind. They greet me with hearty backslaps and cheerfully slide themselves into new seats to allow me to sit.

I deem the game, at first, to be too stressful for me to watch. Instead, I turn my sights to the clouds far above the players, and concentrate instead on the peaceful playfulness that they present. I listen to the commentator with rapt attention, however, and only redirect my attention to the plays when something particularly interesting happens. Even after the score is upped to 80-10 Gryffindor within twenty minutes and I relax, I'm still far too caught up in my own mind to pay attention to most of the game.

Somehow, I miss the moment when James catches the last snitch of the year. I'm thrown into this fact when over half the stadium rises and cheers, calling for a victory lap. James is lifted onto the shoulders of his team and mobbed by ecstatic watchers. I locate Alice among the throngs, kissing Frank. Emmeline is bashfully shaking hands with Sirius. James is hollering in exhilaration. I sneak away.

The victory party is a ball of colors and cheer. Someone's brought down their radio, and we're all dancing to a popular wrock song when I turn around to talk to Em and find James instead. He's not wearing his uniform anymore, like Sirius is, but instead has elected for his team shirt. I can't do it.

"James!" I blurt.

I can.

"Yes, Lily?" He's politely confused.

There's no way.

"Er, well, I've been thinking…"

I can make it.

"No surprise there," he laughs, relaxing. "What's your latest profound thought, Professor Evans?"

"You," I whisper.

"Sorry, didn't catch that." He looks completely honest. I can't tell if he's pretending or not.

Oh, Merlin, I can't go through with this.

I close my eyes.

"Well, er, you see, there's something that's been bothering me…" I rush. "You keep kissing me without my permission and I don't like that."

"Lily, I'm sorry about that, I really am – " he starts. I clap a hand over his mouth and talk over him. "But I give you my permission now. I don't love you, but I – I think I could fancy you. So…James, will you kiss me?"

And he did. And for the years to follow, he never stopped.


	7. By: Kara: Hufflepuff: Fred Weasley

Title: Five Things To Do Before I Die

Character: Fred Weasley

House: Hufflepuff

Name: Love From A Muggle/Kara

Fred Weasley sat at a wooden desk in his room at the Burrow, alone. He was thankful that his twin wasn't in the room with him. Fred wanted time alone after a funeral to think. He was eleven-years-old and had just been to a funeral of a member of his family. He was puzzled over the funeral, and wanted to do something about it.

Still dressed in black, he sat with parchment and quill at hand. The funeral triggered something deep in his thoughts. He started thinking what would happen if he died? Would he live a good life? He wondered if this was normal for a young kid to think about. Although Fred hadn't know his Great uncle well, he had met him a few times before. His uncle had a 'bucket list' as his mum called it and Fred thought he should have one too. At the top of a piece of parchment he scribbled:

"_Five things to do before I die:"_

_One. Go to Hogwarts and get sorted into Gryffindor, the best house._

_Two. Play Quidditch as a Beater with George._

_Three. Befriend a ghost or Poltergeist_

_Four. Kiss a girl._

_Five. Make mum proud. _

He placed the quill down beside the parchment and stared at his list. Scattered around him were several lists he didn't like. 'This will be the final list,' he thought. He carefully folded the list, placed it in his pocket and remembered September first was fast approaching.

* * *

_**One.**_

Fred had stood in line alongside his brother George as they waited to be sorted. He could see his older brothers Charlie and Percy at the Gryffindor table and wished to join them.

"Weasley, Fredrick," Professor McGonagall called as he stood there nervously. He walked slowly and nervously to the stool, sat down and faced his fellow classmates. He loved an audience, but today he didn't want to be the center of attention.

He fiddled with his hands as he waited patiently as the hat thought of the best place for him to fit in.

"GRYFFINDOR!" Fred jumped off the stool as soon as Professor McGonagall took the hat off his head. He raced to join his brothers at the Gryffindor table.

"Congratulations, Fred!" Charlie said as he patted his back. George was next, and Fred settled down, as he watched with the rest of the school as his brother sat on the stool. He had hoped his brother would be in the same house with the rest of the family.

"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat shouted as soon as it sat on his brother's head. His brother raced towards the table, sat in between him and Charlie and smiled a big grin at his identical twin.

"We made it, Fred. We're officially Gryffindors." George smiled.

Later that night, before bed, Fred waited till everyone had left the Gryffindor common room. He pulled out the folded parchment from his pocket, opened it, and smiled down at it.

"I can cross number one off my list," Fred said as he smiled. He took a quill, dipped it in ink, and crossed in a thick black line _**'Go to Hogwarts and get sorted into Gryffindor'.**_

* * *

_**Two**_

One year later, Fred stood in front of the Quidditch pitch along with his brothers. He was twelve now, and old enough to try out for Quidditch. Charlie was captain, and smiled down at his brothers as he gave a pep talk to those trying out for the team.

"We're going to be Beaters right, Fred?" George questioned.

"I hope so, Charlie doesn't pick favorites. We're his brothers, but I want to prove to everyone that we made the team because we are good." George smiled at his identical twin.

"Beaters, take your positions," Charlie's voice boomed.

They were ready. Fred winked at George as Charlie tossed a Bludger into the air. Fred was the first to respond to it and hit the Bludger with all of his might, as he aimed at the fake opponent on the opposite side of the field. Fred hit the opponent square in the chest.

The crowd screamed cheers of joy as they saw Fred fly back down to the ground.

"Way to go, Fred!" Charlie said in amazement.

"George, you're next."

Fred watched his brother send the Bludger right to the chest just like he did moments before.

Again, the crowd cheered as another Weasley did a good job.

An hour passed as they watched the other students of Gryffindor try out for the team. Charlie called everyone's attention and gave another talk.

"Right, now I will place a list of names tomorrow morning. Good luck." He watched as the students scattered for their equipment.

"Fred, George, come here," Charlie called their names. The two walked up to their older brother.

"Good job today. How'd you learn how to play so well?" Charlie asked them. Fred had a twinkle in his eyes as he smiled at his brother George.

"We played Quidditch at the top of a hill while Mum and dad were out shopping."

"You take after my own heart.," Charlie chuckled.

The next morning Charlie posted a notice on the common room's notice board

"Fred, wake up! Wake up!" George said excitedly the next morning.

"What is it, George? Ohh, Quidditch tryouts!" Fred's eyes grew wide as he remembered the previous day.

He quickly pulled on his clothes and rushed past his brother. Together they raced down the stairs and into the common room.

"George, we made it!" Fred shouted as he saw the names on the parchment.

"Blimey, Fred, we did!" George grinned a huge smile at his brother.

Later that night, alone in the common room, Fred pulled out the parchment , from his pocket, and placed it on the table.

"I can cross number two off my list." He smiled as he read the second line on the list. Fred then pulled out a Quill and Ink. He drew a black line across: '_**play Quidditch with George as a Beater'.**_

* * *

_**Three**_

"Fred, what are you doing?" George asked as his brother stared out into the grounds one cool morning.

"Ever wonder why Peeves acts the way he acts?" They were in their third year now at Hogwarts and knew every inch about the school.

"Because, he's a Poltergeist, Fred. Everyone knows that," George retorted.

"But what causes him to go crazy and pull pranks with out caring about anyone?" Fred asked his twin with an eager tone in his voice. George turned to his best friend.

"Get that twinkle out of your eye, Fred," George said.

"What twinkle?" Fred said innocently.

"You're up to something, Fred," George stated as he watched his brother get his books ready for the day.

"I'll see you in class, George, I'm going to find Peeves," Fred said smiling to his twin.

"Fred, why?"

"Don't you worry. We're pranksters, George, if Peeves is the ghost that pulls pranks on people, then I have a few tricks up my sleeve for him." Fred winked at his twin, picked up his book bag, and walked off to find the ghost.

Secretly, Fred wanted to befriend Peeves. He felt they had a lot in common and wanted to help him. Fred found Peeves in the Trophy room putting crumpled up pieces of parchment in the trophies.

"Peeves," Fred said calmly making the poltergeist jump.

"I know who you are, you're a Weasley," Peeves said almost too calmly for Fred. Peeves aimed a crumpled up piece of parchment right at Fred's head. Fred ducked and it missed.

"You know, there's a better way of doing that." Fred opened his book bag, looked around for something and handed it to the Poltergeist.

"What's this?" he asked out of curiosity.

"It's a slingshot. I've been told Muggle children used these to aim objects at stuff."

Immediately, Peeves put a crumpled up piece of parchment in the sling, pulled back, aimed for a far away trophy and let it go. The parchment flew through the air and landed inside the middle of a trophy.

"Where'd you get this?" Peeves asked as he smiled a little wicked grin.

"Knicked it off of Filch. It was in his office in a box listed 'forbidden items'." Fred said as Peeves handed the slingshot back to him.

"Keep it," Fred said.

"Are you sure? I could use this to cause a lot of pranks," Peeves said happily.

"That's why I gave it to you. We pranksters need to stick together. Use it well," Fred said smiling.

"No one's ever given me anything before." Peeves took another wad of parchment, placed it in the sack and again aimed, this time at the ceiling. It soared through the air and landed in the middle.

"I've gotta get going to class. Have fun, Peeves," Fred said. He knew it was a good start to what would be the oddest friendship he's ever had.

Later that night, alone in the common room, Fred took out the same old parchment from his pocket.

"I can cross number three off my list," he said as he read the third line. He drew a black line across: _**'Befriend a ghost or poltergeist'.**_

* * *

_**Four**_

Fred frowned three years later, as he saw all the happy couples in Hogsmead. Valentine's day was a joke, he hated everything about it. He was sixteen now, and alone. George was off with a girl which surprised Fred greatly. He never pictured George to be the first one to get a girlfriend. Fred went to the ball with Angelina in their fifth year, but it was just a date. George snatched Angelina from him after the ball when Fred realized she was more of a sister than girlfriend material.

Everywhere he turned he saw a couple kissing in the snow. He even saw Harry Potter with Cho Chang. It made Fred think of someone he had his eye on. Someone, with whom he shouldn't have a crush on knowing his little brother had a crush on the same girl. Speaking of the girl, he saw Hermione Granger head towards the Three Broomsticks. He wanted to follow her, but knew it would be better not to.

Two hours later, after Harry had left Madam Puddifoots alone and went into the Three Broomsticks, Hermione came out and headed up to the castle. Fred decided to follow her at a short distance. She walked as if she was in a hurry.

Fred didn't know what came over him but he had to talk to her, it was as if she was making him want her all over again. He watched her every move. She turned slightly, saw him smile, and stopped walking. He caught up to her.

"Hey, Hermione," he said nervously.

"Are you okay, Fred?" she asked him as she eyed him. He knew he was acting weird, but couldn't explain it with out making a fool out of himself.

"Fine," he squeaked suddenly blushing. He ran off leaving her confused and alone. He thought he could handle talking to her, but realized he couldn't.

Later that night, alone in the common room, he sat staring at the parchment on the table. How stupid he was for acting the way he did. He knew he wouldn't be able to cross it off the list. To his surprise, someone came down from the girl's dormitory. Hermione faced him as she approached him.

"Hermione, are you okay?" he asked her. This time it was she who was acting differently. She eyed his paper as he tried getting it out of her way. She was quicker than he was.

He watched her read the paper to herself quietly. She read every word silently, her eyes darted across the page. For some reason, Fred didn't take the paper away from her.

"Have you ever kissed a girl?" she asked as she moved her thumb over number four on his list. His eyes darted away from her, as she stepped closer to him.

"No," he said shyly wondering where the shyness came from. She put the parchment down on the table, took his hand and wrapped it neatly in hers.

"Do you want to?" she whispered as she held tight to his hand.

"Yes," he said honestly.

"Do you want me to be your first kiss?" she asked already knowing the answer.

"I think you know the answer to that," Fred said, as he tried not to sound too sarcastic.

"Is that what you wanted to talk to me about this afternoon?" She was making him beg for a kiss. It played with his emotions, and she knew that.

"No, I just wanted to talk. But for some reason, I couldn't around you."

"If you want to kiss me, just ask me," she said smiling. When he couldn't get the words forming, Hermione stood on her tiptoes to match Fred's height, smiled, and leaned in to kiss him. He pulled back slightly as she gave him a confused look.

"May I kiss you?" he asked, just as she had suggested.

"I already gave you permission," she teased him. This time, he pulled her slowly close to him, wrapped his arms around her and leaned in as he kissed her lips gently. When they broke apart, she smiled at him.

"You can cross that off your list," she said smiling.

"You won't tell anyone?" he asked her as sat down at the table in the Common Room.

"Everyone has secrets of their own. It's not mine to tell," she said smiling as she went to her dorm.

Later that evening, as he sat down reflecting what had just happened, he pulled out his list and smiled.

"I can cross number four off my list," he said as he reread the fourth line. He drew a black line across: _**'Kiss a girl'.**_

* * *

_**Five**_

Molly Weasley entered what once was Fred and George's room. She frowned as she thought of the last time her boys had been here came in here, and became mad at herself when she couldn't remember exactly when it was. The way the room looked now, looked cold and unwelcome. Molly shook her head as she fought tears in her eyes. She didn't like to think of the room as not lived in. Instead, she thought of what it use to be like during their Hogwarts years.

Back then, it was full of life. Clothes scattered the floor, the twins talked about anything and everything. Explosions were heard coming from the room. Molly was always banging on their door when explosions were too loud at first, but then she sighed and got use to the noise. Now she missed it and would give anything just to hear them again coming up with something new. She could almost see them sitting there on Fred's bed hunched over something. They were always tinkering with something. She could hear herself yell at them from the threshold of the doorway, and their look of shock as their mother caught them again. Punishments were handed out, but praises weren't as easily given to them. Their Hogwarts books were scattered in and around the trunks as they awaited going back to school. Molly often nagged them about keeping their room messy.

Today, it was too quiet for Molly to handle. No noise came from the room, no explosions and not even the twins talking. Dust covered everything as if it hasn't been cleaned in years.. When Fred died she swore she'd never set foot in that room again, but on his first year's anniversary of being gone, she wanted to relive his memory. Instead of going to the graveyard with her family. Molly didn't want to go there today. She wanted to enter the room she swore she'd never go in again. Fred and George's room.

At first, Molly wanted to start cleaning off the dust on their desks, and bookshelves, but something told her to go sit on his bed. She slowly walked to the bed just staring at it before she sat down. Dust even covered the sheets that haven't been slept in years.

Her eyes darted towards the desk and saw something on the desk that once belonged to Fred; a wooden wand, stood up and walked over to it. She picked up the wand, as she did so, a loud squeak came from the wand as it turned into a giant rubber mouse.

Molly started to cry then, as she had found one of the few surviving fake wands. She thought back to when she use to yell at Fred and George over every little thing, and wished she could take it all back just to see her son again. Molly dropped the mouse suddenly. She was angry with herself, and wished she had said one nice thing to Fred before they went into hiding.

She bent down carefully and looked under the desk for the mouse, and found it next to a piece of old parchment. Molly forgot about the mouse and picked up the parchment. It had belonged to Fred because it was by his desk by his old bed. She didn't know what she was about to read, but sat down on his bed and opened it.

Molly stared at the title , _'Five things to do before I die'_, she stared at the list, the comments he made on the side and frowned as she read the last, unmarked list. 'Make Mum proud', was list number five. It wasn't crossed off like the others, and it certainly didn't have notes beside it like the others.

'_Well, Fred Weasley,' _Molly thought. _'You most certainly made me proud. You showed bravery and courage and fought in the war along with the rest of us. I hate the outcome, you should be here with us. But fate had other plans. I only wished I had told you sooner. I admit, you also made me proud when you opened your shop because you finally finished a goal you had. It might not have been my goal, but it was yours, and you completed it.' _She started to cry again as she left momentarily from their room into hers, found ink and a quill, and came back to their room.

"I can cross number five off of your list, Fred. You made me proud," Molly said as she reread the fifth line. She drew a black line across: _'__**Make Mum Proud.'**_


End file.
